


i thought i was dreaming when you said you love me

by shizuoh



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bad Cooking, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Post-Time Skip, Wedding Fluff, Weddings, making pancakes together is a love language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24259573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shizuoh/pseuds/shizuoh
Summary: “I can’t believe you proposed to me after making me depression pancakes.”“Wait, these aredepressionpancakes!?”(chapter 2 now complete with a wedding!)
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 45
Kudos: 647





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um... this is based off a dream i had about mystic messenger except i decided to do the right thing and transfer it to bokuaka. also based off a really cute proposal video i watched a while ago.

Koutarou wakes up to the sound of Keiji’s sigh. He lifts his head up from the couch just enough to see him swinging the door open, then frantically reaching out to catch it with his hand before it can slam against the wall. He holds it for a moment, then trails his hand down to grab onto the doorknob and quietly shut it. He shrugs off his jacket and throws it carelessly onto the floor. After a few beats of silence, he crouches down and puts his jacket into the hallway closet. 

The only light in their apartment is the overhead stove light from the kitchen, and even that is enough to illuminate the overwhelming look of  _ tiredness  _ spilling across Keiji’s face. He momentarily disappears into their room to put his stuff away, and steps out moments later to walk over towards the couch. Keiji puts one arm on the back of the couch and leans over with a curious look.

“Koutarou,” he says softly, like he’s afraid his voice will break through the stillness of the air.

Koutarou keeps his eyes shut.

Keiji makes an annoyed sound, and pinches Koutarou’s nose. The latter yelps at the sudden lack of air and sits up, looking at his boyfriend with a tearful expression. “Keiji,” he whines, “you were supposed to wake me up with a kiss.” Then, for dramatic effect, he lays back down, throwing his arms out, snoring loudly.

He can almost hear the way Keiji rolls his eyes. “Oh, my bad,” he says, amused, and leans down to gently press his lips against him. Just when he tries to pull away, Koutarou reaches up and cups his face, pulling him back down so quickly that Keiji nearly falls over the back of the couch. He laughs into the kiss, steadying himself, and when they pull away, he rubs at his eyes and lets out a yawn.

“Tired?” Koutarou asks, sitting up and propping his chin on the back of the couch.

“Yeah,” Keiji admits after a moment. “Been a long day.” He runs a hand through his hair.

“Did you eat?”

Keiji hesitates way too long for the answer to be  _ yes _ . Koutarou narrows his eyes and hops over the back of the couch, ignoring his boyfriend’s sound of protest. He strolls into the kitchen and opens the fridge, hoping for some sort of leftovers. The spaghetti that Tetsurou had brought him had been eaten within a matter of minutes. He curses himself for his vacuum of a stomach and moves to the cupboards.

Keiji walks in behind him, crossing his arms and leaning his hip on the counter. “Koutarou—” he starts, but doesn’t get very far when the other pulls out a box of pancake batter and holds it out to him. Keiji blinks at it a few times. “ _ Pancakes? _ ” he asks incredulously. “At—” he pauses and looks over at the clock on the stove; it reads  _ 11:34 _ , “—this late?”

“You love pancakes,” Koutarou argues, “and you’re not leaving this kitchen until you eat  _ something _ .”

“Is that a threat?”

“Maybe,” Koutarou says. “You know I always keep my promises.”

Keiji snorts, shakes his head, and strolls over to the fridge. He opens it, peers inside, and takes out a carton of eggs — however, there’s only a few left in there. He turns just as Koutarou rips open the box and pours all of the mix into a bowl, then tosses the box in the trash.

“Hey,” he calls, “we needed that box for the instructions.”

“It’s  _ pancakes _ , Keiji, how hard can it be?”

“Did you see how many eggs we need?”

“I don’t know. A few.”

“Koutarou.”

“We’ll wing it, babe.” He flexes for show. “We’re owls. Birds of prey!”

Keiji gives him an unimpressed look, and just as he starts to take the box out of the trash, Koutarou leaps in and steals the carton from his arms. He takes out three eggs and cracks them before pouring them into the mix. It’ll be fine. Probably.

Keiji sighs, and tries to look annoyed, but he’s biting the inside of his lip which tells him that he’s trying not to smile. He takes out the milk and sets it next to the bowl Koutarou’s mixing, then raises his eyebrows in question. “We do have an electric mixer,” he says.

“I’ve got this,” Koutarou says proudly, and picks up the jug of milk. He eyes it carefully before uncapping it and pouring an indeterminate amount into the bowl. Keiji is watching him with an unreadable expression — it’s probably a mix of horror and reluctant acceptance — and eventually, he tears the jug from his grasp with a quick That’s enough. 

“If you insist,” he says, and mixes with much more ferocity than before. Some of the batter splatters on the counter and even on their clothes (Keiji makes a noise and walks over to the sink to clean himself off), but eventually the batter is mixed just enough to where he thinks it looks alright. It looks a little lumpy, but he figures it’s as good as it’s gonna get.

Just as he leans down to grab the frying pan, something wet and sharp hits his behind. Koutarou yelps and jerks back up, frying pan lifted in a defensive position, and his eyes widen when he sees Keiji standing there, trying not to laugh, a rolled-up towel in his hands.

“I can’t believe this,” he mourns. “My own  _ boyfriend _ .”

Koutarou advances with the pan, but Keiji re-rolls the towel and positions it towards him.

“I’m not afraid to use this,” he says.

Silence passes between them. Koutarou carefully sets the pan on the stove, and charges forward to swing Keiji in his arms. His boyfriend drops the towel in his surprise and wraps his arms around Koutarou’s neck to steady himself. “You’re going to get batter all over me!” he protests, but he’s laughing, and doesn’t argue when he’s pulled in for another kiss.

Koutarou eventually sets Keiji down on top of the counter, and turns on the stove so he can start pouring the pancake mix. Keiji leans back so he can grab the cooking spray and hastily covers the pan before Koutarou pours it in. He makes four small-sized circles in the pan.

“Why didn’t you just make two big ones?” Keiji asks.

“I don’t know.”

The two of them watch the pancakes sizzle in silence. Koutarou flips them when he thinks they’re brown enough and when they’re done, he pours in about four more.

“How many do you plan to make?”

“How hungry are you?” he asks.

Keiji is quiet for a second. “Pretty hungry.”

“Then eat those four and we’ll see about making more.”

Keiji brings his feet to himself and sits cross-legged on the counter while Koutarou takes out the syrup. Keiji starts cutting the pancakes into smaller sizes and takes the syrup to drizzle all over them. For a man who seems so serious, he sure does like sweet things.

“Are you going to eat any?” he asks between mouthfuls.

“Maybe,” Koutarou asks, struggling to flip one of the pancakes when it sticks to the bottom of the pan. “I could always heat them up tomorrow morning.”

Keiji wrinkles his nose. “Ew.”

“Microwaved pancakes are a delicacy,” he argues, and laughs when Keiji just shovels more pancakes into his mouth.

Eventually, when all the batter is used, Koutarou puts the bowl into the sink and fills it with soapy water so he can deal with it in the morning. He starts to rinse the spoon but it splashes back up in his face and Keiji laughs so loudly he almost chokes on his mouthful of food. Koutarou gives him a playful scowl before wiping his face with his shirt and pretending like he doesn’t see Keiji blatantly staring at his stomach. He piles a few pancakes onto his own plate, not near as many as his boyfriend, and drizzles only a tiny amount of syrup before digging in. Keiji untucks one of his feet from underneath him and swings that leg around Koutarou’s hip to bring him closer.

The two of them eat in silence. Koutarou makes sure that Keiji finishes his plate before moving to finish his. When he’s done, Keiji starts piling some of the syrup onto his fork and eating it just like that. This time, Koutarou is the one wrinkling his nose.

“I literally can’t believe you.”

“I don’t want to waste it.” Keiji then pauses, and taps his fork against the plate. “Thank you,” he says softly, and Koutarou stares at the dark circles that seem to be permanently stuck under his eyes. “I really did have a rough day today.”

“I know,” Koutarou says, and he would kiss Keiji’s forehead were his lips not covered in syrup. “What time do you have to go in tomorrow?”

Keiji shrugs with one shoulder. “Don’t know,” he answers. “I could work from home if I wanted to, I suppose.”

“Do that. You need sleep.”

Keiji opens his mouth like he’s going to protest, but then he stops, and lets out a weary sigh. Setting his empty plate off to the side, he leans forward until his head is resting on Koutarou’s shoulder, pushing all of his body weight onto him. “Maybe,” he admits quietly, his voice muffled by the fabric of Koutarou’s still-wet shirt.

Koutarou sets his plate off to the side, his heart suddenly racing. The both of them are covered in batter and syrup and water and the light in the kitchen is admittedly not very flattering, but he feels like he’s never felt more comfortable than where he is right now. One of Keiji’s arms lifts up to wrap around his back, his fingers tracing circles along his spine. It feels like just yesterday when he was so afraid to even admit to  _ himself  _ that he was in love, but now he wants to shout it from the rooftops (again), shout it to everyone he passes by. He wants to… he wants to…

“Marry me.”

The both of them immediately freeze. Keiji lifts his head up from Koutarou’s chest and stares up at him in alarm. “What?”

Koutarou’s face goes red. This is definitely  _ not  _ how he planned to do this, but there’s no turning back now. He stammers and stumbles over his words, but eventually gets it out again, “Marry me, Keiji.” He puts both of his hands on Keiji’s shoulders, and then trails them up to cup his jaw. “I love you. I can’t imagine myself doing anything but loving you. I feel like I was born to do it.” He starts trembling, overcome by adrenaline. He can’t stop now. “And — I know we talked about it. That we don’t  _ have  _ to get married, we don’t have to prove anything, but I — I want to. I want to have matching rings. I want all of our friends to see how in love we are. I want to be able to call you my husband and have it be  _ real _ .” Inhaling sharply, he takes his hands away from Keiji and puts them up. “One second.”

Koutarou rushes out of the kitchen and darts into the bedroom. He feels like he can’t breathe and his mind is focused on solely one thing. He digs through the closet until he finds the box that hides the smaller box, and opens it once before closing it back up just to make sure the ring is still there. He walks back into the kitchen; Keiji is still sitting on the counter, one leg dangling, his entire expression screaming shock.

He walks back up to him and opens the box, holding it out. “It’s nothing special,” he says, shaking so much that Keiji ends up taking the box just to keep him from dropping it. “I’ve — I’ve had it for a while. Well, not  _ a while _ a while, but… a while. I just… I couldn’t figure out the right time. And I would always get so nervous. I was going to plan something special too, but it just…” He swallows thickly, and glances up to meet Keiji’s eyes. “You make me feel complete, Keiji. Please marry me.”

Keiji is quiet for a long time, and the longer the silence draws out, the more anxious he feels. Keiji traces his fingers along the simple golden band, and then suddenly inhales sharply. Heavy tears spill over his face and Koutarou yelps at the sight of it.

“ _ What—!? _ Keiji, what’s wrong? Do you not like it? Do you not want to!? I—”

Keiji shakes his head quickly, his breath catching over a sob. His hands clench around the box. “No, you idiot,” he chokes out. “ _ Yes _ . Of  _ course  _ I want to marry you.” He holds the box back out to him. “Put it on me.”

Koutarou tries to suppress his smile but he can’t do it for long. He starts laughing, and feels like he’s going to start crying himself as he takes the ring from the box and tries to slip it onto Keiji’s finger. The both of them are shaking too much for it to be done properly, and eventually, they both grab onto each other’s arms in an attempt to steady themselves. After a few tries, the ring slides onto Keiji’s finger, and he holds out his hand, watching it glint in the ugly kitchen light. Then, Keiji grabs onto his face and pulls him forward, kissing him with all of his might. Koutarou wraps his arms around his fiancé’s shoulders, marveling in the overwhelming taste of syrup coming from him. He doesn’t even mind the sweetness.

_ Fiancé. _ He almost can’t believe it.

“Did you think I was going to say no?” Keiji asks in disbelief when he pulls away. 

Koutarou reaches up and wipes some of his tears with his thumb. “Well,  _ no, _ ” he answers honestly, “but I just kept getting nervous that it would be the wrong time… or something.”

“Or something,” Keiji echoes, and laughs. “Idiot,” he then says fondly, “I was going to propose to  _ you _ .”

Koutarou’s eyes go wide. “ _ Huh? _ ”

“I haven’t bought the ring yet.”

“... Do you want me to take it back?”

Keiji throws his arms around the other’s middle and brings him close. “Don’t you dare. I’ll kill you.” Then, after a beat, he says into his shirt, “I can’t believe you proposed to me after making me depression pancakes.”

“Wait, these are  _ depression  _ pancakes!?”

“It’s very you,” Keiji says, holding up his hand and staring at the ring again. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

Koutarou beams, and kisses him again, softly and full of mirth.

They pull away. Silence. Then, Keiji says, “Just so you know, I think I was born to love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my blog](http://haikuyus.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the wedding!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY CASHEW! i hope this is to your liking my leo queen <3

“Bro, I really don’t know how I’ve made it to this point.”

“Y’know what? Me neither.”

Koutarou throws his arm back and lays a heavy hit against his best man’s chest. Kuroo winces and stumbles back from the blow — it was a lot harder than he actually meant to hit, but it’s too late to take it back now.

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am! I’m just—”

Kuroo cuts him off, “Nervous?”

The front of Koutarou’s forehead pulses with an annoying pressure. His scalp tingles in anticipation and he rubs his fingers together anxiously. “No,” he snaps at first, and then looks at his pathetic expression in the mirror. He eyes his mussed tuxedo and trails his gaze along the line of the creased golden tie. There’s a habanero sauce stain near the elbow of his white suit. His hair is rumpled and sticking every which way and not in his usual sexy way — Kuroo had spent so much time trying to get it to look nice only for him to nervously run his hands through his hair and yank it every few minutes. “Well,” he then says sheepishly, “maybe a little.”

Kuroo, still rubbing one hand against his possibly-bruised rib, steps up and claps a gentle palm against the other’s shoulder. He shakes him a little, just for show. “Relax, man,” he says quite unhelpfully, “you’re only getting married to the  _ love  _ of your life, your  _ soulmate _ , your one and  _ only— _ ”

“I get it!” Koutarou shouts, louder than he means to. His entire body flushes red with nerves. He whirls around stiffly, wiping sweaty palms against his pants. “What if he says no?”

Kuroo blinks at him. “Dude, you already proposed. He can’t really say no—”

“What if he leaves me at the altar—”

“—I don’t think that’s going to happen—”

“—and I’m doomed to be alone forever!?”

Kuroo stares at him for a long time. The longer he looks, the more Koutarou thinks he’s about to get punched. The other crosses his arms and leans his weight onto one leg, tilting his head with an incredulous look. “Can I ask you something?” he says pointedly.

“Sure.”

“Are you dumb?”

“Most definitely.”

“Oh, okay. That’s what I thought,” Kuroo says, nodding, then rolls his eyes with a groan. He splays out his hands in front of him wordlessly, then whirls them around each other like he can’t quite figure out what to say. “I — you — I don’t even know how to express this to you! Your future husband is literally waiting for you to  _ marry  _ him and you’re sitting here with habanero sauce on your chin!”

“I have habanero sauce on my chin?” Koutarou lifts a hand to wipe it.

Kuroo wrinkles his nose. He taps at his own chin. “Other side.”

He switches hands.

“No, more to the left.”

He does so.

“No, you—” Kuroo cuts himself off with another sigh, rubbing his temples. He glances back up and watches Koutarou scrub aimlessly at his face for another long few moments.

“Did I get it?” Koutarou asks.

Kuroo doesn’t even blink. “Yeah,” he says in exasperation, his eyes lingering on his chin, but he says nothing else about it. Then, his eyes trail down to the rest of his suit. “Wow, you really fucked it up, huh? You — is that  _ more  _ sauce on your sleeve?”

He looks at said sleeve. Turns out there’s more sauce than he had originally thought.

“Your suit is  _ white  _ and your wedding is literally in—” Kuroo stops and looks at his wrist. There’s no watch anywhere to be found. “—ten minutes!” He throws his arms up in the air and gives Koutarou a look up and down. Takes a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. If Akaashi can agree to marry you when you’re covered in pancake syrup, he can agree to marry you covered in habanero sauce.” Then, more to himself, he mumbles, “A match made in heaven…”

Koutarou doesn’t say anything for a few long moments. He inhales shakily, and runs another hand through his hair. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “I just — I can’t believe Keiji wants to marry  _ me _ .”

“Of course he wants to marry you,” Kuroo says swiftly, spinning on his heel and walking into the other room. Koutarou hears the sounds of shuffling and clothes rustling, and Kuroo raises his voice in order to be heard from how far away he is. “Have you even seen the way he looks at you? Don’t answer that, because I know you have. I mean, seriously, how many high school relationships do you see lasting this long? Sure, sometimes they get married, but I think you two are, like, literal soulmates. And I don’t like to believe in that shit ‘cause it makes me sad.” 

Kuroo goes quiet for a minute. More shuffling ensues. Koutarou stays where he is, awkwardly shifting his weight from side to side. 

He comes back eventually, carrying what looks like a hair dryer, a comb, and some of that fancy stain remover Kenma always seems to carry around with him.

Koutarou resists the urge to laugh. “You spent all that time finding those?”

“Shut up,” Kuroo says, and has the nerve to look even a little embarrassed. He grabs Koutarou by the sleeve and ushers him into a seat in front one of the smaller mirrors. He looks at his watchless wrist again. “We have about four or five minutes to get you looking presentable.”

“How do you know if you don’t even have—”

Kuroo drowns out the rest of his question with the sound of the hair dryer being turned on high. He smirks at Koutarou through the mirror and gets to work. There isn’t much he can do to save the birds’ nest of hair, but the longer he works, the more Koutarou starts to think he looks presentable. Eventually, Kuroo turns off the dryer and tosses it aside carelessly, ignoring the loud sound it makes when it hits the wall.  _ Oops, _ he says, and starts whistling to pass the time.

He sounds so carefree. Koutarou, on the other hand, can’t stop squirming, or sweating, or overthinking every move. He reaches up to rub at his chin again, pulling his hand back to look for any sign of sauce. When he can’t find any, he takes a moment to look at his own reflection in the mirror. He feels older than ever.

“Kuroo.”

“Hmm?” 

“Did you really mean all that stuff you said?”

Without missing a beat, Kuroo snorts and replies, “Of course. You’re always going off about how you want to show off your love to the world. Now’s your chance.” He puts the finishing touch on his hair and sets the comb off to the side. “And besides,” he says, “anyone would want to marry you if given the chance.”

He exhales slowly. A part of him knows that Keiji wouldn’t even give him the time of day if he had an  _ inkling  _ of doubt about marrying him, but he’s always been the antsy, anxious type. It’s just in his nature to overthink everything. It sort of amazes him, truly — how he’s sitting here, his best friend primping him up, for his  _ wedding day _ . He’s getting  _ married _ .

“Would _you_ want to marry me?” he asks out of curiosity.

“Well,  _ duh _ ,” Kuroo says, shoving him out of the seat and throwing the stain remover in his direction. “Is that even a question?”

“Yeah?” Koutarou laughs, uncapping the stain remover with shaky hands and rubbing it against the habanero stains along his sleeve. It removes some of the bright red, but it also ends up smearing it deeper into the fabric. “Shit.”

“Good going.” Kuroo looks at his wrist again and snorts. “Alright, get goin’, loverboy. Let’s get you married before I decide to take that honeymoon trip for myself.”

“What would I do without you, bro?”

“Die, probably. Now get movin’!”

* * *

He about dies on the spot when the doors open and he sees Keiji standing there, hands wringing together nervously in front of him, biting the inside of his cheek in anticipation. He’s glowing in the golden light that washes over him from the sun setting behind him. The black of his tuxedo is going to look invisible by the time night time rolls around, but he looks stunning just standing there. The wind is starting to pick up from the lack of heat and all of the guests turn to face him as he walks down. 

He trips on nothing once, twice, and almost a third time before he even makes it up in front of Keiji. He’s shaking and sweating and he hopes that the stains on his white tuxedo aren’t visible to both Keiji and all of their guests — all of their guests who are currently watching them get married. 

( _Married_. He still can’t believe it.)

Despite his nerves, he’s smiling. Beaming, actually. Keiji is trying hard to suppress his smile but he isn’t doing it very well. He reaches his hands up, hesitates, and then exhales softly as he goes to fix up Koutarou’s tie.

“Well,” he says, a little breathlessly, “you clean up nice.”

“Yeah.” Koutarou laughs nervously. “Big day.”

Keiji hums. “Oh, really?”

“Nothing major. Only that I’m getting married to the hottest guy in the world.” Koutarou shrugs one-shouldered, trying to ignore the way Keiji’s fingers tangle themselves into the fabric of his tuxedo, subtly tugging him closer.

“Hm.” Keiji lets out a soft chuckle. “That’s a shame. Here I was hoping to snatch you up today.”

“You want me that much?” comes out of his mouth before he can stop it.

Keiji looks a little surprised, but it fades quickly. “Of course,” he says. “There’s no one else I’d rather be standing here with.” He then makes a face. “It’s a little cold out here, y’know. I’m doing this for you.”

“All for me?”

“For us.” Keiji runs his hand along the lines of Koutarou’s forearm, and then pauses when he feels something slightly damp. “What is—?” He cuts himself off as he turns over the other’s sleeve and notices the faint stains against the white. “You—” Keiji goes to speak again, but breaks off once he looks at Koutarou’s face, eyes glancing down to the lower half.

“What?” Koutarou asks nervously. Keiji covers his mouth with one hand and starts to laugh. “ _ What? _ ” he asks again, more frantically.

Keiji wets his thumb and goes to wipe at his chin, looking him in the eye as he does so. Koutarou is frozen to the spot; even after all these years, Keiji can pin him down with just a single glance. When Keiji pulls away, he can hear Kuroo’s distant, grating laughter.

“Did you stress-eat fast food again?” Keiji asks.

“Did I still have habanero on my face!?”

Keiji laughs again, louder, tossing his head back with it. “Oh,” he gasps out, “I  _ love  _ you.”

His heart sings.

“And I hope you know,” Keiji then continues, wrapping his arms around Koutarou’s waist, “that there’s  _ nothing  _ for you to be stressed out about. I’ve been waiting  _ ages  _ to marry you. I can’t imagine myself with anyone else but you.”

“You’ve tried imagining yourself with other people?”

“No, Koutarou. That’s the point.”

“Oh.”

Keiji rolls his eyes fondly. “I was in high school fantasizing about our wedding. All these years later and I still think about it every day.” The back of his neck slowly turns red. “And now it’s a reality. I can hardly believe it.”

Koutarou gasps and protests, “ _ I _ can hardly believe it! I — I just want to show you off the world! Is…” He blushes. “Is that selfish of me?”

“No,” Keiji replies, “because I want to show you off too.” He hugs Koutarou tighter, his hands tracing circles all along his back. “I love to see people be inspired by you. I love to see them love  _ you _ . But I want to be able to look them all in the eye and say, ‘world, this is  _ my  _ ace’.”

He’s speechless, but just for a moment. “I am your ace,” he says, voice shaking. “I’ve always been your ace. I’ve never wanted to be anything more than yours.”

Keiji looks as if he’s about to cry. “Well, then I guess it must be my lucky day.”

He thinks anyone could take one look at him and just  _ know  _ that he’s in love. But even so, he wants to make it clear. He  _ has  _ to make it clear. Koutarou cups Keiji’s face and kisses him with everything he has, and he hears some of the guests start cheering and hollering, even if the ceremony hasn’t begun yet. Every moment of this already feels like a dream. 

Keiji pulls away eventually, but he still hovers close, eyes half-lidded and face beaming. “It seems you can’t be romantic without being covered in something food-related.”

Koutarou pauses. “That sounds kind of kinky. What if we tried chocolate?”

“Hello?” comes Kenma’s voice, all of a sudden. He’s looking up at the two of them with an incredulous expression, his phone held out in front of him, fingers mid-swipe, like he had just been aimlessly toying with it moments before. “I’m literally right here. I haven’t even started saying anything yet.”

Keiji then wrinkles his nose. “Well, hurry up. I have some vows I’d like to say.”

Another pause. “ _ Those _ weren’t your vows?” Kenma asks.

“Nope,” Koutarou replies happily. “Now get us married,  _ Kodzuken! _ ”

Kenma does his very best to look annoyed as he starts officiating, but there’s something about weddings that tends to make things five times brighter. By the time he’s almost done, he’s smiling, he’s laughing, and he seems to cheer the loudest when they share their first kiss as a married couple.

* * *

( _ World, this is my ace, _ Keiji had wanted to say, had wanted to scream to the heavens and beyond and to anyone who would listen.

Keiji’s eyes are closed and his face seems to be permanently stuck into a serene smile as he and Koutarou gently sway back and forth to the music. The air outside is cold around them and the other guests swing and laugh and dance like maniacs across the floor. The two of them hover to the side, lost in each other’s warmth and presence.

There doesn’t seem to be a single soul paying them any mind. But it doesn’t matter. They’re their own protagonists — and  _ world, _ Koutarou thinks,  _ this is my husband.) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last time i went to a wedding was when i was about.... eight years old. so forgive me
> 
> [my blog](http://haikuyus.tumblr.com/)


End file.
